


There Was A Blue Sky House...

by svetlanacat4



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svetlanacat4/pseuds/svetlanacat4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Valentine's Day Challenge, for Sparky955. The prompt was a photo of a blue house wich reminded me of a French song by Maxime le Forestier</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Was A Blue Sky House...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparky955](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparky955/gifts).



 

 

 

**1963**

“It’s beautiful…” Napoleon Solo peeped at the other man, expecting some rolling eyes, pursed lips, shrugged shoulders… as his Russian partner deplored his tendency to marvel at things like this house, symbol of a society he wasn’t used to and which he condemned, thanks to his Soviet education. 

“Yes…”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow. A warm sea breeze, unusual in February even here, was gently tousling the blond hair, and the slightly tan face enhanced Illya’s amazing blue eyes. _Blue eyes which matched the blue wooden house_ , Napoleon thought.

“When I was a child…” 

Napoleon held his breath. As the silence persisted, he cracked a bitter smile. They were getting close, they shared many things... except for memories. To tell the truth, Napoleon gladly told about his own childhood memories. Illya didn’t. It wasn’t about trust. It was about… 

“My father took us to Balaklava…” Illya paused again. He wasn’t reluctant, though… Just… recollecting images from the past. “I was… 4… 5 years old. It was magic... We lived in a friend’s house, next to the beach. An old wooden house… Blue… with potted plants…” He stretched his hand towards the house as if he wanted to grab it. “This one… it doesn’t really look like it…” He shook his head. “It was smaller… and older and… quite different but…” He breathed slowly with a strange smile, uncertain, hesitant. “Did you read _A la Recherche du Temps Perdu_? _Remembrance of Things Past_? The narrator, Marcel, is drinking a cup of tea with a Madeleine and he’s suddenly reminded of when he was a little boy, at his aunt Leonie’s house. She was used to give him a morsel of the Madeleine she dipped into her tea…” He paused . “I read it while I was studying in France.” He cleared his throat. “Where is our contact’s house?”

1973

Napoleon Solo gave a few directions and came back with a satisfied smile. The French agents would “take care” of the villains, the microdot was already on its way to Waverly’s office and they were alive, both of them. He stepped carefully over some rubble.

“Illya?”

His partner bent down and rummaged through the debris. “Really, they did it in a poorly amateurish way… They blew the house and didn't even succeeded in destroying the most damageable things...” 

“Fortunately, Illya, we figure among the said damageable things...”

Illya rolled his eyes and stood up straight, some leaves of paper and card at the hand.

Napoleon couldn't help chuckling at the sight. The torn lapel caused the black jacket to dangle over the Russian's shoulder, showing his rumpled shirt, unbuttoned... The explosion had sprinkled gypsum over the blond hair like powdered sugar. There were white traces on the frowning face, too...

“What's so funny, Napoleon?”

“You look like a kid who struggled with pastry flour, tovarish...” And he put the finishing touch to the affront by brushing some dust away from his friend's cheek. “What is this? Thrush plans?”

“No... “ He wiped it with his sleeve, carefully, “It's... a record.”

“They recorded their...?”

“No, I don't think so... It looks like to be just... music. It belonged to the owners of the house, I guess...”

Napoleon Solo pursed suspicious lips, “I don't believe in coincidence... We'll listen to it as soon as possible...”

“It's a song, apparently... San Francisco, by... Maxime Le Forestier...”

***

The Russian checked the record and put it on the record player. A guitar dropped some chords and then, there was the song...

 __ **C'est une maison bleue**  
Adossée à la colline   
On y vient à pied   
On ne frappe pas   
Ceux qui vivent là ont jeté la clé  

_There was a sky blue house_

_Imprinted on my memory_

_They all come on foot, they don't knock on door_

_Those who're living here got rid of the key_

“Une maison bleue...”, Illya whispered softly...

Napoleon smiled, drew his partner in his arm and kissed him... “Happy Valentine's Day, Illyusha...”

Of course, some UNCLE agents looked for the blue house, in San Francisco... It was just... a song.

**1983**

“I can't, Napoleon. Valentine's Day is...”

Napoleon Solo put a finger on Illya's lips.

“Yes, I know. Valentine's Day is a busy period for Taste... But the boys will manage without you.”

“Nap...”

“Shhh...”

“But...”

“Shhh...”

***

“So that's what you were plotting? I did notice those winks, knowing smiles...” Illya Kuryakin knew this face. Napoleon wouldn't give him a clue. A smirk of a smile, eyes twinkling with self satisfaction... “I planned something special for you, too.. but it was no use flying to Los Angeles...”

Napoleon chuckled, picked up the two Champagne glasses the stewardess was offering, thanked her with a charming smile and held out one to his friend.

“Napoleon...”

“За любовь!” _(To love!)_

He couldn't fight against those warm eyes...

“За любовь, Napoleon...”

***

Napoleon stopped the car and turned to his lover. “Let's go for a walk...”

Illya rolled his eyes but complied with his friend's demand. The weather was delightfully sunny and warm... He looked around, with a vague feeling of déjà-vu... 

Napoleon was puzzled, too. The warm sea breeze, unusual in February even here, was gently tousling the golden hair, enhancing Illya’s amazing blue eyes. _Blue eyes which still matched the blue wooden house_ , Napoleon thought. Déjà vu... Twenty years ago...

“Happy Valentine's Day, Illya...”

He held out a small heart-shaped bow to his lover.

“What...”

“Open it.”

In the box, a key was glittering...

“What...”

Napoleon put a hand on his friend's shoulder and made him pivot, waiting for the reaction. Illya leaned back against him, wordless.

“It was on sale... I thought you'd like it. Come.”

The house was wonderful... There were large and bright rooms, two wood burning fireplaces, one in the master bedroom and one in the living room, a courtyard, direct beach access and an extraordinary deck, overlooking the ocean. 

“It's...”

Napoleon wrapped his arms around his friend's waist and held him in a tight embrace, resting his chin on his shoulder. They stayed like this for awhile, looking at the ocean, savoring the magic.

“I love you, Napoleon. You're a stubborn, crazy man but I love you...”

Napoleon tilted his head and kissed the corner of the tempting lips while his right hand slid down the flat stomach and played with the belt buckle, loosening it deftly. 

“I really would like to have my own Valentine gift now...”, he whispered, “there is champagne in the bedroom...”

Illya Kuryakin smiled at the happy little blond boy who was running on the sand of his memories.

“Happy Valentine's Day...”

  



End file.
